A Wartime Christmas Wish
by Victoria Viridian
Summary: On the eve before the Christmas holidays, fifth-year Astoria Greengrass is unable to sleep. Tiptoeing to the darkened Slytherin common-room, she finds a brooding Death Eater who couldn't feel any less festive. [This one-shot also serves as an excerpt from "A Story O' Green Grass", my work-in-progress full-length.]


_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello readers. Many thanks for taking the time to peruse my story. It's actually part of a full story that is coming up (but still has a lot of work to do) which offers you a snapshot of Draco and Astoria in their "tentative stage", so to speak. Make what you will of it, and I'd love to hear some reviews, they help me immensely. Thank you! **_

_A Wartime Christmas Wish_

"It's getting darker again, isn't it?"

Draco Malfoy looked up from his rigid perch upon the sleek black sofa. The Slytherin common room was bedecked in festive décor which highlighted the permanent ambience of the room's green underwater lighting. A large Christmas tree seemed to belie the dark aquatic setting, its dressings giving off green fairy lights interspersed among the branches. They alternated between silver serpentine ornamentations floating in the conifer, creating an additional iridescent glow.

It was the last night preceding the holidays, and Astoria Greengrass was unable to sleep. She had crept out to the common room with the idea of enjoying a book by the fireplace, only to find that her favourite sofa was already occupied, and by someone she knew quite well indeed.

"What is?"

Astoria stepped closer. "The mark," she whispered matter-of-factly.

The Dark Mark, a spiraling skull and snake, burned black on Draco's arm. The past year had been exhausting for him, as he had been inducted into the Death Eaters with a mission designed to punish his father. Despite his best efforts to conceal his task, outsiders were inevitably curious and sought explanation for his strange, absentee behaviour. He had attempted to dissuade Astoria Greengrass, younger sister of his classmate Daphne, ever since she discovered he had been failing Transfiguration and didn't even care. Through some strange relationship, which consisted of her questioning his actions and prodding for the truth in that shrewd way of hers, they had developed a tentative camaraderie that survived into the next year, after Draco had been spared from performing murder.

Astoria had known that his parents' lives hinged on his completion of the mission, and she had witnessed his slow deterioration into the depths of an insurmountable fear. Thinking back, it had always seemed like she appeared in his weakest moments. He was stubborn in discouraging her interest, however, determined to prevent her discovery of the truth. She herself was just as obstinate, and this relay of questions and deflections between the two of them continued, framed by Astoria's deductions. Tentative romantic attachments had begun to blossom between the two, though just as unstable as their current state of affairs.

Though Astoria's knowledge of his circumstances was not limited, instinct made Draco pull his shirt sleeve down over the unsightly blemish. She watched him flinch, his right hand lingering at the opposite wrist, and moved to sit next to him.

He hadn't bothered to dress for bed, even though it was half past two - Astoria wondered fleetingly how often he sat awake in the common room, and if she had intruded upon a regular routine. She felt self-conscious all of a sudden in her pale purple dressing gown and pyjamas, her waves of ash blonde hair unruly over her shoulder. "How are you faring lately?" she pried, when he showed no sign of a reply.

Draco sighed. The dim lighting of the common room made the circles under his eyes especially pronounced. "You've seen how it is," he murmured in a voice as hollow as his cheeks. His pallor was extraordinary; even when he had looked healthy, prior to his sixth year at Hogwarts, he was known to have a pale complexion, but now it reached a new extent.

"Everyone's terrified; the Death Eaters have seized control of not only Hogwarts but the Ministry as well…" He rubbed his temples, staring blankly ahead. "I don't know what to think. It seems like the worst of my predicament is over, but I'm always on edge, wondering what _he'll_ make me do next."

Astoria frowned. "It must be taxing."

"You don't know the half of it." Draco almost smiled. Almost. "Well – maybe you do, seeing as even this school has descended into this chaotic anarchy. Everyone's either for the Dark Lord or against him. But … _I_ don't know what I want to happen."

With trepidation, Astoria laid a hand on his arm, contemplating his implications.

"What do you think you want? Essentially?" she ventured.

Finally, Draco turned his head to meet her eyes. His white-blonde hair stuck up at the top in defiance of its usual impeccable state. He appraised her for a moment, apparently deciding how truthful to be. He could lie – but she knew so much already that he should hardly have scruples over what to divulge. He trusted her.

"If I'm honest with myself," he answered finally, so quietly that Astoria had to lean toward him to hear, "I want to be able to sleep properly, without having nightmares. I want my arm how it used to be, clean and painless. A steady life instead of one built on fear. And I want –" His voice had grown almost fevered with an agonized longing. He watched her a moment more, his face colouring with embarrassment, before turning away.

"I can't believe you're actually admitting all this," Astoria observed in wonderment, a jaunty smile warping her lips.

Draco emitted a humourless laugh. "It's useless to try to cling to my old beliefs at this point."

A beat of silence passed.

"So you want You-Know-Who gone?" she pressed, wearing an odd expression. If Draco had to define it, he would guess that it comprised curiosity and apprehension.

"It doesn't matter if I do. I don't have much hope."

"Well, I know you're afraid to think it, in case _he_ finds out, but you have your Occlumency, don't you?"

He sighed again. "Yeah."

Silence elapsed between them, the Christmas lights twinkling in the near-darkness. Astoria marked the irony of the tree's presence; despite the time of year, neither of the two people sitting in the room at that moment felt much like celebrating.

"You know he's personally ordered me to torture people?"

Astoria's mouth fell open in surprise. Indeed, she had often thought of what He Who Must Not Be Named had forced Draco to do. During the summer, when he had been using Malfoy Manor as headquarters, she reasoned that Draco must have witnessed horrific things, but it hadn't occurred to her what acts he had personally had to perform since the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Draco nodded in confirmation. "Just like they do in detention here. I hated having him in our house. I suppose he'll be there when I get back tomorrow, too," he noted dully.

He watched Astoria carefully as she said, "I want him gone too. More than almost anything."

Draco's eyebrows floated upwards. "Almost anything?" he repeated with interest, a hint of his characteristic smoothness creeping in.

At first, Astoria couldn't fathom what he meant. Then he went on studying her, looking more alive in that single instant than he had all night. His eyes shone like silver opals through the dappled lake light, so that she should have predicted her next action long before it occurred. Impetuously, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and was relieved when his arm slid around her small frame.

"Well, everything you've been through…," she managed, curled against his right shoulder, "…it just seems enough to have gotten on with."

Astoria felt Draco nod, his chin settling to rest atop her blonde head.

"Everything would be easier if he were gone," she mused, emitting a muffled sigh. "You'd be at liberty to do whatever you liked, and I suppose I wouldn't have to lie to anyone about knowing you…"

Draco fell silent again, inwardly cursing his role in the Dark Lord's circle. He was aware that his father had been involved in carrying out certain orders in the past; orders that had ended in the murder of Astoria's best friend's mother. The girl's inherent hatred for Draco didn't do anything to mitigate his situation. There were times when Draco felt an undeniable bout of selfishness, born of the growing desire to claim Astoria, openly and outright, as his. But he didn't even know where they stood as of now. Apart from the occasional clandestine meeting, they were not friends, nor lovers. Anyway, acting on impulse at a time of such terror seemed foolish, and he needed to prove that he was anything but. So he kept their connections secret, and so did she – they were good at agreeing with each other on that.

But when she turned her delicate heart-shaped face (misleading, for he had never met a girl more resilient and less delicate) up toward him, the space between them no more than a breath's, he found he could no longer resist.

They were alone, and in their solitude he felt traces of his old entitlement resurfacing. Tentatively, he brought his lips down to hers.

They had kissed only once before, in September; upon their reunion after a long summer fraught with the abruptness of Dumbledore's calamitous death. Astoria had been livid with him, of course, as she often was for some misunderstanding or other, but he'd cornered her, interrupting her tirade. That kiss had thrown Astoria's world into disorder, confusion, secrecy and even resentment at his enigmatic behaviour.

It had been nothing like this.

The new kiss, devoid of urgency, betrayed no motive: it was simple, steady and sweet, and ignited an array of emotions that almost frightened her. Their lips moved together in accord, this extraordinary setting having fostered a new dynamic in their relationship.

When it was over, and each was left to cling to the other by the light of the dying fire, Astoria felt herself trying to picture their upcoming interaction and the near impossibility of its future. She realized that it may be temporary; she would probably not experience another moment like this soon. This gentle closeness to Draco was a rare moment. She told herself that no matter what happened next, no matter the uncertainty of their fate in this colossal conflict – she would keep this memory always.

But when she looked back at Draco, memory alone didn't seem enough to satisfy her. If she could, she wanted more of this Draco, the one who would try to ignore his fears for both their benefit, to allow himself some semblance of wholeness. Right now, nothing about them was normal, nothing guaranteed. She resented that, and knew who was at fault.

As far as she could think, there was only one solution.

"It's the only way," she breathed aloud, pulling away from Draco. He registered her absence almost immediately as the cold of the common room settled back around him.

"What is?" he asked sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. He followed the growing, speeding thoughts reflected in her wistful emerald eyes.

"With _him_ dead – really, finally dead I mean – that's the only way you'd ever be free." She stood, stretching and picking up the book she hadn't ended up opening.

"I reckon we've got 'what you want' sorted."

Draco was speechless, shocked by the bluntness of her conclusion.

"Merry Christmas," she said, pressing her soft lips to his forehead with a smile, and striding resolutely toward her dormitory.

"Merry Christmas," Draco echoed to the empty common room. In that quick instant she had left him staring numbly after her, the truth sinking in.

He was back to being cold and alone, but he could feel the hope trickling in, licking up his sides like vivid flames – and he became acutely convinced that what he truly, desperately wanted had just left the room.


End file.
